Vanity
by F12Scuderia
Summary: "Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously." In the Second Age, Annatar plans to rise from the ashes of his downfall, starting with an elven-realm with an equally ambitious Ñoldorin princess. -ONESHOT-


_**Vanity**_

* * *

His eyes squinted at the smouldering heat of the Sun, prompting him to raise a hand and obscure his view. The leather boots that he wore tapped lightly across the polished, marbled hallways; his dark robes swirled as he turned sharply to the left, still evading the sunlight. Yet the shafts of golden light pierced through the white pillars. He glowered at it, as he gritted his teeth.

When something moved behind him, he quickly whirled around to see what it was.

An elf looked utterly surprised and stood there with his mouth open so unceremoniously. As quickly the lord saw him, the elf dipped his head in a low bow and murmured his apology in Elvish.

The lord forced a smile, accepted the apology, and watch as the elf sprint away. _What a wad_, he thought, still glowering. An ebony lock fell from his plait, and he had to fix his long tresses before continuing down the hall.

He had lived in Ost-in-Edhil for well-nigh four hundred years, successfully memorizing each floor, room, and hallway to take. Four centuries were enough for him to earn the trust of the Elves—well, most of them. The High King in the far west of Middle-earth did not trust him, and so did the dark-haired Half-elven, whose foremother utterly defeated him during the ancient times. The very thought of an Elven-princess and her white wolf defeating him in his isle made him sick.

He was among the best—_if not the only best_—commander and lieutenant. He laid sieges on forests and underground kingdoms, he bred and raised thousands of werewolves, and he commanded battalions. He was once the best. Here in the Second Age, he would show the Elves who must rule the world.

_Show, don't tell_, he always reminded himself.

The moment he crossed the white courtyard of the tower, his mood turned sour. He hated how the conference hall had to be on the _other_ side of the tower, with a yard and fountain coming in between the two buildings. Convincing the Elves to move his bedchambers elsewhere proved futile and unfruitful. Shifting into other forms would have suited him well, though only in the darkness. He could not risk these Ñoldorin Elves to raise suspicions on him. He sacrificed hundreds of years for this plot; he sacrificed his presence when he could be elsewhere, preferably to his Dark Tower that he so planned to finish before another war sparked, and—

"Lord Annatar, you are frowning again."

His golden eyes shot up in surprise, having been completely caught off-guard. Before him there stood another elf, much to his dislike, as she gave him one of her mocking smiles again. His frown did not leave his handsome face; rather, it worsened. He never liked her dark hair and eyes, how she held up her face in confidence wherever she might be.

"It is none of your business," he spat.

She was silent for a moment, as though assessing the situation. "Such language, Lord Annatar," she said softly. "Where are your manners?"

Still seething, he swallowed his pride. "Your Ladyship," he breathed, bowing politely.

Her bright blue-grey eyes followed his movements. Once he had straightened himself, she continued, "There, better," and gave him a small smile. "Today comes the first day of spring. You should be grateful."

He was not. "Yes, I am. Now, I must excuse myself, my lady. Your father awaits me in the conference halls. He would not be pleased if I should be delayed, whatever the reason." He did not like how the elf before him smiled.

"What a coincidence," she stated in a monotonous voice. "I am on my way to greet my father as well. Shall we go together?"

But before he could give a reply, she had already intertwined her arm with his, slightly pulling him across the white courtyard, and into another long passageway. Looking down at the elf, he could see that she was gazing intently at the road ahead, taking long strides. He was aware on how he lagged beside her, while his mind quickly worked on how to get rid of her at least.

"Quiet your thoughts."

He glared. "What thoughts?"

"_Those_ thoughts." She glanced up at him and gave him another mocking smile. "Surely, you would not leave your lady alone in these halls, Lord Annatar?" She halted in her steps, forcing him to halt as well. There was suddenly a disheartened look on her face.

He did not like it. "What now?"

"You truly do not like me, do you?" It came as a whisper, forlorn as her look.

"Indeed." He felt no remorse on such honesty.

"I thought as much." She sighed and resumed to walk, still dragging him along with her. Briefly, her eyes glanced up at him. "If you cannot like me, how can you presume to remain as lord here in Eregion? You have everyone's favour, especially that of my father's. If he dies and I take the kingdom, you shall work hard to earn _my_ favour."

He pondered about that for moment, combing his slender fingers through his thick ebony hair. If the current Lord died and left his kingdom to his proud daughter, it would be chaotic. The High King would raise his blue-and-silver banners, with the Half-elven riding alongside him. Elven realms would be gathered and established anew, and all his preparations would come to naught once more.

Finally, he tersely answered her with, "Never."

The Ñoldorin lady nodded. "It would be a shame though, if you cannot serve me, Lord Annatar. You might as well leave these lands the moment my father draws his last breath. If you are still in my lands afterwards, I shall have the warriors hunt you down," she declared, asserting the power she still was not given yet.

_The proudest of them all. What does she want to hear? Does she want another argument?_ He thought to himself. _The Ñoldor always need more room to quarrel in._

"What do you say, Lord Annatar?" She glanced up once again, still smiling.

Truly, he hated her smiles. He hated how she commanded herself in every meeting, as though she wanted the attention to her. She would spend hours in an argument, until the other elf sighed and announced that he lost. He hated how she thought of herself as her father's daughter, as the last member of the royal noble House of the Ñoldor, when she was just a lonely child. It almost made him laugh.

Her vanity would be her downfall.

He gave her a handsome smile. "Your father will die a very horrible death that you cannot assert yourself to the throne any more, Your Ladyship. There will be neither grave nor memory."

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**Author's Notes: **I was daydreaming during class, and voilà! It is supposed to be a one-shot involving Glorfindel, my favourite Golden Lord. Believe me! The story was going on that direction until I realized I ended up with Eregion in mind. I decided to take that course. In all honesty, I do not know how to portray Annatar; I just incorporated the usual way on how I portray the elves in my other fics. So, yeah, you are free to ignore this. I just really wanted to write to pass the time. Still, thank you for reading, and I cannot promise to continue this story.

Reviews are always appreciated. Let me know what you think!


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